Delirium
by extremely romantic
Summary: The title says it all. But what if the high temperature isn't just fault of the fever? And what if Morse has already proposed Joan once? Just a bit of flirt between D.C. Morse and Miss Thursday. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I hope I have portrayed all the characters as they appear in Endeavour, at least a bit._

"Bloody freezin' today!" Jakes muttered rubbing his hands, while he, Thursday and Morse arrived at Dr. DeBryn's that afternoon. The day was grey and a northern wind was blowing, increasing the feeling of cold.D.I. Thursday tightened the scarf around his neck and Morse pressed his fists deeper into his coat's. Inside the temperature was bearable, but being the place a morgue and being them on a hurry, as usual, none of them took their overcoats off.

"Gentlemen.", the doctor greeted the three men when they were inside.

"Doctor.", Thursday answered, while Jakes and Morse just nodded in response.

The body of a man was lying on the pathologist's table, partially covered with a white sheet. "The victim", started DeBryn, "which it's still unidentified, I suppose…", he stopped and looked up toward the D.I. who nodded, "… has been stubbed in his chest, a large knife presumably. One single cut, but precise, I must say…" the doctor was continuing with his report, but Morse couldn't focus on his words. He reached for the stool in front of the microscope's table and sit down, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "… The carotid has been transected-" DeBryn went on and he desperately tried to hear what the doctor was saying, but his head was pounding in an unbearable way and he felt a sudden weakness in his whole body.

"Morse, what do you think?" Thursday asked him more than once and when no answers came from his bagman, he raised his voice: "Morse!"

Morse lifted his head and looked up at the three men with a blank expression on his face. He hadn't heard a single word. "Uh—I-", he began "isn't it too hot in here?" he managed to say standing up. He passed his forearm on his brow and sighed heavily. "I need some fresh air, excuse me."

"You're white like a ghost." Jakes said when the D.C. was next to him leading to the door.

"I'd thought you got over it, Morse" the doctor pointed out, mocking him a bit, "It's been a while since you've been visiting my place now."

"I'm all right- just need to go out for a moment…" blathered Morse opened the door.

The three men stared at themselves, then Thursday followed his bagman outside, a little worried by his unusual behavior.

"Morse? You all right?"

The young man leaned to the wall, eyes closed, panting heavily. "Yes."

"What's wrong with you, then?" Fred asked again, "Come on inside."

Morse said nothing but started to slowly slide against the wall. Thursday grabbed him before he could fall completely to the floor. "Morse!" he called and the D.C. opened his eyes and tried to get back on his feet.

"Doctor!" called Thursday and DeBryn came from inside.

"Take him in", he ordered, "here, make him sit."

Morse came back where he first was, this time with Thursday on his left, ready to catch him if he couldn't be able to stay sit up right.

The doctor checked Morse's wrist, examined his eyes and touched his forehead, "No doubt your temperature is very high, I suggest you to see a doctor. Since you have one in front of you…" He looked towards Thursday, who nodded.

"I'm fine", Morse tried to repeat.

DeBryn said nothing, reached for his bag, pulled out a thermometer, shook it and held it in front of Morse.

"There's no need", he replied trying to lift himself up, "I'm fine, how do I have to tell you?" His voice lowered and he swallowed with an effort, but manage to stand up.

"You clearly aren't lad. So now you stay sit and let the doctor do his job." Thursday's tone didn't admit any further reply.

"But-" Morse tried to protest, but Thursday gently pushed him down and made him sit again.

"I'm afraid you're not in the condition to protest. Now, I suppose I don't need to specify it goes under your tongue." Reluctantly Morse obeyed and the glass tube was placed inside his mouth. He gave a miserable gaze to Fred.

"You're in good hands, don't worry." He reassured him.

"Oh yes, pathologist's." Muttered Jakes, leaned to the wall and crossing his arms.

DeBryn looked at him but said nothing. Then after a few minutes to Morse again: "I think it's enough, thank you." And he removed the thermometer from Morse's mouth. "One hundred and one. It's a miracle you're still on your feet, given you constitution. Now, other symptoms?"

"No." blathered Morse crossing his arms. "I'm all right… just fever I suppose."

"Are you sure?" added DeBrym.

"Jesus, Morse, we haven't all day! A body's over the table and a murderer's outside." Pointed out Jakes lighting up a cigarette.

Morse didn't answer but kept his gaze down as a guilty child, scolded by a parent.

"Morse!" Thursday raised his voice again.

"Mens sana in corpore sano " the doctor said and Jakes and Thursday exchanged a puzzled look. They absolutely had no idea what the doctor was talking about, but apparently it worked: "All right…" Morse finally spoke "Bit of a headache maybe…"

"And?" DeBrym asked gently.

"My throat's burning." The D.C. finally admitted.

"We're done, thanks God." Muttered Jakes, cigarette between his lips.

"Very well." Said the doctor placing his fingers on the side of Morse's neck. "Lymph nodes are enlarged." Then he reached for his bag again, while Morse continued to protest: "It's nothing. There's no need." He looked up at Fred."Let the doctor do what is best for you, lad."

"Let me examine your throat, Morse".

"There's really no need." He protested again.

"Morse! Open your damn mouth, or I'll make you open it!"

Jakes sighed and lighted another cigarette.

"Parva scintilla magnum saepe excitat incendium. " The doctor said again and again Latin worked: Morse reluctantly opened his mouth again, the doctor looked at it and then announced finally: "I may be a pathologist, but I still can make a diagnosis of tonsillitis on a living man." He turned himself and looked towards Jakes, who lowered his eyes and pretended not to be the addressee of the doctor's words.

"Go to bed Morse, you need to rest for a couple of days. Keep yourself hydrated, no alcohol of course, aspirin to lower the temperature and the inflammation."

"Thank you, doctor," Fred said "Come on! I take you home. I think you can report to Jakes about the victim." He added to DeBrym, who nodded. "Peter, phone for a car when you've finished. You'll update me at the station later."

"Yes sir." Jakes nodded as well.

"Come on Morse, can you walk?" Fred asked to his bagman helping him standing up.  
Morse didn't say anything and stood up.

"Don't worry Morse, you'll be fine." The doctor added when the two men were approaching the door.

"Doctor, Jakes." Thursday greeted them and went out with Morse.

"Goodbye Inspector, Morse" DeBrym responded, "Now Jakes, back to my real job."

Thursday drove in silent, checking on his bagman from time to time, who kept staring out of the window, occasionally massaging his temple with his fingers again and again. "I'm not that bad," he answered to an enquiring look of the D.I. after a while.

"I can tell when a man's pretending he's all right but he's not and when he's pretending to feel bad but he's not. War teaches lots of things, lad. No shame in it, it can happen to everyone."

Morse said nothing and turned himself towards the streets of Oxford moving quickly out of the window.

"I need you in good shape, Morse." Fred added with a gentler tone. Morse sighed loudly but again said nothing.

At some point he turned towards Thursday: "Where are we going?" he swollen and touched his throat making a smirk, "I don't live this way."

"You're staying with us until you recover. Don't worry, my Win knows what to do."

"Bu-" Morse tried to protest.

"You can take it as an invitation or an order, your choice." Fred stopped the car outside his home and turned the engine off.

Winifred saw the car from inside and ran to open the door, pretty alarmed. "Fred? What's the matter?"

"Nothing, love," He answered opening Morse's door, "Just Morse needs a bed. He has tonsillitis, according to doctor DeBrym. I told him he could stay here until he gets better."

"Oh poor lad", she said touching Morse's forehead when the two men were into the doorway, "You're burning like a fire, of course you can." She smiled sympathetically at him, but Morse once again, tried to refuse, "Thanks Mrs. Thursday—but- there's no need."

"Shh…" Winifred scolded him, "You're throat must be in flames as well, no need to talk nonsense."

Morse smiled a bit embarrassed by the kindness of the woman. "You're going to stay here, in Sam's room" she added, "Come on inside, he's in London with some friends for the weekend." She gently pulled Morse inside, "I know how to look after you, can't recall how many times I've done this when it'd happened to my children."

"I need to go back," Said Fred, "and you need to rest." he added towards Morse. "See you later Win. Good rest Morse." He kissed his wife's cheek and went out.

"Come on safe." She greeted him.

"As always, love." He said laud from outside, opening the car's door.

Winifred closed the door and touched Morse's back gently. "Come on upstairs, you can borrow what you need from Fred- or Sam-" She added looking at her thin guest and took his arm, helping him on the stairs. Morse couldn't say anything, except smile with gratitude, overwhelmed by Winifred's kindness. This was the first time, since his mother died, that someone took care of him in this way. Despite the fever and his aching throat, he started feeling a sense of relief on being in his superior's home after all.

"Morse? May I come in?" Joan knocked on the door of his brother's room later that afternoon. She decided to have a look at Morse while her mother was making dinner.

"Morse?" She repeated lauder when she heard a low murmur coming from inside the bedroom. She entered: the lamp on the bedside table was on, but the light was quite dim, and the room was half in dark. When she came closer to Morse he seemed to be asleep, but he was moving, restless.

"It's Joan… Morse?" She gently called him touching his shoulder, but the answer was only another low murmur. She seated on the edge of his bed and touched first his cheek and then his sweaty forehead. "Oh Morse… The fire's colder than you!" she whispered. He moved again and muttered something Joan couldn't understand. She took the cloth from the bedside table, soaked it into the basin full of cold water and placed it on his brow. "Better now?" She asked, without the expectation of an answer.

Morse groaned at the touch of the cool towel and again murmured something it could have been a 'thank you'. Joan smiled, "Don't worry, Morse, we're going to look after you. We can't let the Oxford's Police fight the crime without your exceptional skills." She soaked the cloth again in the water and replaced it on Morse's forehead.

"M….Mi…Ss", he murmured with his eyes closed, shivering a bit at the touch of the towel, "Thursday…" He managed to say. Joan couldn't refrain a giggle at his polite manners that didn't change even in this state of discomfort. "Yes, Morse, it's me, it's Miss Thursday." She repeated, but he just moved again without saying anything comprehensible.

She replaced the cold cloth again and he opened his eyes for a second, without even trying to focus on her figure. He was still wiggling, moving and trying to say something, but without been able to speak properly.

At some point he opened his eyes again and looked at Joan, who was still replacing the wet cloth on his brow. "Miss—Th-Thursday-" He repeated again.

"Yes?" Joan answered.

"—M—Ma—Marry—Me-"

After a second of shock, Joan raised her eyebrows and couldn't refrain a smile, amused by the sudden proposal, knowing that Morse was just raving and that it was just caused by his high temperature.

"Shhh!" She said, shaking her head and placing her fingers on his mouth. "Stop speaking or your throat gets worse."He groaned again and again murmured something incomprehensible.

"Home!" Thursday hung his hat, scarf and coat in the hall.

"In here." Winifred answered from the kitchen.

Fred kissed his wife on the kitchen's doorway. "What's this good smell?"

"Beef stew and smashed potatoes."

A murmur of joy escaped from him: "My favorite!" He opened the fridge and took a bottle of beer. "How's Morse? And where's Joanie?"

"She's with him", Winifred stirred the stew, "He slept all the afternoon, poor lad," Fred nodded and took a sip, "time for another aspirin by now. I made him some broth in case he wants some."

Fred murmured with approval. "You mind he's here?"

"No, he's a good lad, I like him, I've already told you."

"He's very clever, you know, but he's a lone soul, and not that good at looking after himself."

"I think he called for his mother earlier. Or he thought I was her."

Fred took another sip, "His mother died when he was a boy."

"Oh… I'm sorry for him. Anyway, you did well, bringing him here. Now go upstairs and send Joanie down, I need help with dinner."

"Call me when it's ready."

Fred was almost out of the kitchen when Win called him back: "Fred?" and he turned. "Don't worry too much, he'll be fine."

When he reached Sam's room the door was open and Joan was soaking the cloth again into the basin.

"Hello dad." She greeted him.

"Hello Joanie." The two exchanged a kiss on their cheek. "You've been here for long?"

"Not that long."

"I'll stay until dinner's ready. Your mum needs you."

She smiled and went downstairs.

Thursday took off his jacket. "Morse?" He gently touch him and he opened his eyes. Fred removed the cloth and felt his temperature placing his hand on Morse's forehead. Morse sighed heavily and tried to say something.

"No need to talk, can you lift yourself a bit?" He asked, filling up a glass of water. Morse raised a bit. "Here," Fred sit on the bed and leaded him first the aspirin "take it and you'll feel better," and then the glass. Morse swallowed them with an effort and put his hand on his throat. "Still hurt?" Fred asked and Morse nodded. "I know, lad-" He gently pushed his bagman back under the blankets and tucked them around him. "tomorrow it'll be better." Fred took again the soaked cloth and placed it on his bagman's brows. Then he took the armchair closer to the bed and sit.

"Thank you… Sir."

"Don't thank me, Morse. Already told you: need you in good shape. Now try to rest." He took his pipe out and waited for Morse to fall asleep.

It was long past midnight when Joan opened the front door that same night. She carefully removed her shoes, took her coat off and started to climb the stairs. She had just taken a few steps when she noticed a shadow in the dark, who was coming towards her. The thought that that could have been her mother or, much worse, her father, made her return towards the entrance and into the sitting room, where she stayed still, hiding in the half darkness, near the doorway. If she was lucky enough, she could run upstairs without been seen when who was coming would be passed the door. She was well aware that Fred Thursday didn't like the idea of his daughter out in the streets of Oxford at that time of the night and she started to think about a truthful excuse in case her plan didn't work. The shadow was coming closer and she caught her breath, crossing her fingers.

"Morse!" She said in a whisper when she realized it wasn't her mother nor her father, "What the hell are doing up at this time of the night? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

He looked puzzled, "I- Could ask the same, Miss Thursday…"

Joan rolled her eyes: "Night out with the girls from the bank." She explained crossing her arms waiting for an explanation from him, knowing that she was the one out of place at that time.

"I… I wanted a glass of water."

"Speak softly", she warned him, "If dad catches me, I'm in trouble. He doesn't like thinking of me out in the small hours."

"Neither do I…" She raised her brows again " I mean- It could be dangerous- You look very elegant by the way-" He quickly changed the subject and touched the back of his head with a hand, not sure what to say. He couldn't help but notice that the blue mini dress she was wearing, made her eyes stand out more than usually, even in the dark.

She blushed a bit, without understanding why exactly, "Thanks." And a little smile of satisfaction appeared on her lips. "Are you feeling better?"

"A bit, yes."

"Come, I'll fetch you the water." They went to the kitchen and Joan filled a glass.

"Thank you."

"I really need to eat something." She took some bread and opened the fridge where she found some ham. Joan made herself a sandwich and Morse drank his water in silent.

"You know what's good when your throat is in pain? Ice-cream!" she opened the little freezer "I'm sure mum keeps some in winter as well."

"Why not?" He couldn't remember when we had eaten it last.

"Cream and chocolate, hope is fine for you."

"It's fine." He smiled again and stared at the little bowl.

"Spoons are in the first drawer." She said and took a bite from her sandwich. She ate it really enjoying every single piece and she noticed the amusement on Morse's face.

"I'm really hungry," She explained between one mouthful and another, "danced all night…"

He smiled because he could easily picture her on the dance floor, and took a spoon of ice-cream.

Silent fell, then More broke it: "Not exactly Cinderella, huh?" He nodded in the direction of the clock on the wall."

Joan smiled at the sight of the clock that was shoving a quarter to three. "You won't tell dad, will you?"

He shook his head, looking down at his ice cream. "Not my business, Miss Thursday."

"Our little secret, then?" She asked again, relieved and amused at the same time.

"You have my word." He smile again and she smiled back at him, satisfied. "Thank you, Morse."

A sudden hot feeling filled his whole body and he could bet his face had betrayed it. Was it fever again? Or what? He asked to himself.

"You know you were talking in your sleep?" Joan asked quite amused after a few moments of silence.

"Ah?" Morse didn't know if he was more surprised or embarrassed.

"You were calling your mother, you thought mine was yours." She was smiling archly, ready to tease him.

Morse lowered his gaze and kept staring at his ice-cream. "She died when I was just a boy." He looked up again at her, smiled a little, but a deep sadness was in his eyes and Joan felt suddenly guilty. "I'm sorry, for your mother."

"Thanks."

They ate again, Joan sit on the counter and Morse leaned against it, desperately trying not to think about his mother nor to Joan, so closed to him. She noticed that the mention of his mother had let a halo of sorrow around him and decided she had to try something to cheer him up because it was her fault after all. "You weren't just talking about your mother, you know?" She seemed genuinely amused, "I think you need a girlfriend, Morse, I mean it." She nodded and raised her brows, almost laughing.

Morse raised his head, looked up at her and flushed again. And again this feeling of hot invaded his whole body. He started wondering to himself if it was just fever.

This time Joan noticed it, came down from the counter and place her hand on his brows. At her touch he felt his temperature raise higher. "Jesus, Morse, you're still burning!"

Morse smiled a little and looked down, embarrassed. He was never sure how to respond to her. The girl had always been a kind of mystery that was too hard to solve, even for him.

"Oh-" He could only say and realized he was shivering.

"Better you go back to bed."

Ho nodded and they both started to go upstairs to his bedroom.

They said their goodnights and Morse got under the covers. A few minutes after, Joan peeked into the room again, "May I come in?" She asked, but didn't wait for an answer, "I brought you another glass of water, in case you're thirsty again." She placed it on the side table, "Better you have another." She added, handing some more aspirin to Morse.

"Oh- Yes, Thank you." He took it, swallowed it with an effort and slid under the blankets again, exhausted.

"Good night, Morse."

"Good night Miss Thursday."

Joan was closing the door behind her when he called her back: "Miss Thursday-?" There was something she had said he couldn't erased from his mind, despite the fever.

"Yes?"

"You said I was talking in my sleep before- Did I- say something -inappropriate?"

"No, Morse," She said giggling, "Conscious or not, you're a gentleman." She finally closed the door and tiptoed towards her room.

_Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. Reviews are more than welcome, always._


	2. Chapter 2

Joan was searching for Morse's name on the intercom of his building.

She realized she had had a good idea in taking the bus instead of walking because the pots she was carrying weren't light as they had seemed to be at home.

The previous day, Sunday afternoon, Morse had insisted it was time for him to come back home. Sam was expected to arrive any time and he hadn't want to steel his room any longer. Joan had insisted her brother could have slept in his sleeping bag in her bedroom, but his temperature had come back to normal and he had convinced her it was time to leave. When Fred and Win had come back from their dance lesson Morse was already dressed and ready to go, and after a lot of kindly rejected invitations, even Mrs Thursday had given her consent, not without an endless list of recommendations, to which Morse had answered with polite smiles and embarrassed nods. But Fred had agreed only on one condition: he should have asked for a sick leave and not come back to work until he was fully recovered. "I need you in good shape, Morse, don't forget it!" were the last words of Fred while his bagman had got out of the car.

Joan was reading the names on the board, when an elderly woman opened the door from inside and let her in. She finally arrived in front of his door: the one and only without a name on the doorbell's label. A soft humming was coming from inside and she stayed still, came closer to the door and listened carefully: the humming was a piece of classical music. She raised her brows in surprise and rang the doorbell, but no sound came from it, another clear clue that he doesn't use to have many guests, she thought. So she knocked and a few moments after the music stopped and the door opened.

"Evening Morse!" She said cheery as always.

"Err.. Miss Thursday!", she clearly was the last person he was expecting to see and so he stood in disbelief in front of the door for what seemed to be a hundred years.

"May I come in? They're quite heavy!" Joan smiled and nodded towards the back of his shoulders.

"Of course." He finally let her enter and closed the door.

"Mum sends some leftovers: broth, stew, potatoes, ice cream, she says you need to eat properly."

"Oh, thanks.. But there was no need…" A flush rose to his cheeks and he, again, wondered if it was fever. No, this time he was sure it wasn't, but then he suddenly realized what he was wearing and flushed even more: pajamas bottom, his white singlet and the pajamas top, worn open, on it. He understood she had noticed it as well because Joan kept staring at the floor or at the pots she was carrying.

"I'm sorry… I go and change myself…" He headed to his bedroom without saying more and Joan nodded, finally raising her gaze.

"I put them in the fridge." She said laud and without waiting for his answer she opened it: a can of sardines, half a lemon, a little piece of cheese, nothing more. A wave of sadness raised inside her while she put in it the leftovers her mother had asked to bring.

She closed the door of the fridge and started to wandering curiously around the little flat. She picked some records and noticed they all were about classical and opera music. Then she read the titles of some books on a shelf: Greek myths, law manuals, a few novels, short tales by Kipling, a poetry collection by Emily Dickinson. She raised her brows in surprise again. A newspaper with a half done crossword puzzle was laying on an armchair and some police files were scattered in disorder over the little coffee table. She glanced at them and wondered if it was legal, her father never took home work, not ever wanted to talk about it. No family pictures, no portraits.

"I wasn't expecting anyone." He smiled shyly when he finally emerged fully dressed: trousers, shoes, a clean shirt and a sweater on it. Joan looked at him and thought she had never seen him wearing something different from a suit, with or without a coat on top on it. She smiled back, "Shouldn't you be on leave?", she asked, pointing at the folders on his table.

"Yes, well.." He suddenly gathered all the sheets together and put them away, "… I like to keep myself busy", and flushed again. "Some tea? Coffee?" He asked trying to change the subject.

She wondered if he really had what he was offering in his kitchen and kindly refused, not wanting him to become more embarrassed by the probable lack of it.

"So, feeling better?"

"Much better, thanks."

"Back to work soon then?"

"Tomorrow."

She raised her brows in surprise."Does dad know it?"

"Err – No." He looked down and scratched the back of his head, a bit embarrassed.

"No sick leave then?"

He smiled at her with the most innocent look he could make, "I feel fine. And I've plenty of work to do."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"That I've been told I can be back at work, I suppose."

"Won't they find out?"

"Maybe, but probably too late and they're too busy to check, anyway." He shrugged.

Joan smiled, shook her head and showed her disapproval.

"Will you keep my secret Miss Thursday?" He looked up again at her, begging her with his eyes.

She pretended to think about it for a moment, "Of course, as long as you will keep mine." She smiled gently. "At least promise you will eat what I've brought."

He nodded.

"I'd better go now." She reached for her coat and stepped towards to door.

"Er… Thanks for coming Miss Thursday."

Morse hurried behind her to open it. Their hands touched trying to turn the doorknob and nobody moved for a few seconds. They were so closed to one another, that he could smell her floral perfume from the fold of her neck.

Joan turned toward him and found herself with her back leant against the door, her face just a few inches from his. Morse didn't step back. She closed her eyes and a moment after his lips were on hers. Gently and passionate at the same time, he started to kiss her and she couldn't help but do the same.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... I can't…" He suddenly stopped and moved away from Joan, letting her standing still for the shock and the pleasure and the same time.

She pulled aside a lock of hair from her face and place it behind her ear, embarrassed as much as he was. "Of course you can't", she whispered to herself more than to him, "It wouldn't be right, would it? And I clearly am not your kind of girl." Words came out of her mouth without filters, probably because a thought had formed in the back of her mind when she had looked at his things, noticing how different his world was from hers.

Morse turned and faced Joan again, "It's not that Miss Thursday." He felt terrible.

"You don't need to say more." Joan turned her back towards him and rotated the doorknob, "I won't tell dad, don't worry, Morse."

He shook his head. "It's not like that..."

But she kept opening the door.

"It's just… I can't because… If I start, I won't be able to stop… And you deserve more than that, Miss Thursday."

She froze and at the time she felt her temperature raised. Her cheeks flushed more than his had had in the past days. A smile arose on her lips, but she didn't turned to face him. "Goodnight Morse." And the door was shut behind her.

Morse stood still for a moment, unable to move, like hypnotized. He ran out on the landing, but she had already gone. He ran down the stairs and opened the entrance door, but she had already got on the bus and it was already moving.

"Goodnight Miss Thursday." He whispered to no one while the last rays of light were starting to fade and the first stars began to shine in the clear sky of Oxford.

He closed the door of his flat behind and poured himself some scotch.


	3. Chapter 3

When Joan arrived home, the only thing she wanted was stay alone and think about what had just happened. 'I'm back.' She announced while very quickly she took off her cot and hung it.

'How is he?' Fred asked from the living, where he and Sam were watching the news.

'Better.' She answered and started to climb the stairs.

'Has he eaten the food?' Win enquired from the kitchen where she was washing the dishes.

Joan stopped, but didn't come down: 'I just left them… I suppose he had already had dinner… He thanks you, anyway.' And she kept running towards her bedroom.

Once there she shut the door behind her and let out a sigh she was carrying since she had left Morse's flat. She closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back to the door, then she finally sit on her bed, tired and excited at the same time. It wasn't the first time someone kissed her, but this time it had been different: it had been Morse who had kissed her. A tender and determinate kiss, gentle and passionate at the same time.

A knock on the door made her jump and come back to the present. 'Joanie, you all right? There's that TV show you wanted to watch…' Winifred asked opening the door and peering around the room.

'Not tonight mum, I'm really worn out. It's been a tough day… At work…' She specified raising her brows, 'I'd rather go to bed…'

'You sure you're all right?' Asked Win again placing her hand on her daughter's forehead, 'You sure you haven't catch something from Morse?'

Joan's cheeks blushed, but in the dim light of her bedside table's lamp, Winifred didn't notice.

'I'm fine, just tired, I've told you.'

'I leave you to sleep then, goodnight.'

'Night.'

But that night Joan didn't sleep much. Morse's words kept coming back to her mind with a mix of contrasting feelings: surprise at first and pleasure when he had kissed her. '_I_ _can't_.' Then some kind of delusion: no one had ever done this before, usually when someone kissed her, it was her, eventually who slipped away, not the other way round. '_I_ _won't be able to_ _stop_.' She couldn't deny she felt flattered. She clearly had misjudged him: he wasn't looking for some kind of sophisticated woman as she had thought. It had been a compliment, a strange one, but a compliment, or at least it looked like this to her. She couldn't help but smile again at the memory. '_You_ _deserve_ _better_.' She had felt puzzled and she was still feeling it. Better than him? She wondered. She didn't know him very well, but he had always behaved like a gentleman, with his polite manners, his kind of shyness.

Better than a copper? Her father was a copper and she was proud of him. Of course it hadn't always been easy be the daughter of a copper, it still wasn't some time, and she knew her mum had to do sacrifices being the wife of a copper, but… But one of her father's bagmen? Yes, that made sense, she thought. She had never thought about it before, really. From time to time she used to have a crush on some of her father's men when she was younger, but they had been far older than her, looking for a wife, if not already married.

In the small hours, in the dark of her room, she could see what she had already told him: the whole thing was wrong. Wrong for Morse, wrong for her father, wrong for her. They could still be friends, of course, but nothing more. She wondered whether Morse was having a good sleep or, like her, he was laying awake still thinking about their kiss. Then her thoughts went to the following morning: Morse would arrive as usual to drive her father to the station.

And finally, she fell asleep, but her very last thought was about his lips on hers, again.

When Morse arrived in front of the Thursdays' house the following morning, after a sleepless night, the thought of just waiting his guvnor in the car popped into his mind for a second, but the presence of the little box on the passenger's seat made him sigh deeply. He stopped the engine, looked again towards the entrance and finally decided to get off the car and face his destiny. He knew he owed Joan an apology for the silly move of the night before, but he couldn't stop wondering if she had already told someone about it, maybe not to Fred, but what about Mrs. Thursday? Will he be welcome in a different way this morning? These were his thoughts while he walked on the path towards the door. On the doorway, he took another deep breath and rang the bell, wondering if it would have been Joan to open.

But it was Sam who answered, half chewing a toast.

-Oh… Hello!-

\- Hi Morse, come on in.-

-Thanks.- Morse stepped in and Sam came back to his breakfast.

It was Winifred who now popped out from the kitchen: - I heard right then…-

\- 'Morning Mrs. Thursday.-

\- 'Morning Morse, back to work already? No leave then? – She enquired, a little surprised to see the young man in her home so soon.

He shrugged and shook his head, smiling politely, relieved by the fact that Mrs. Thursday seemed to know nothing about what had happened the evening before between him and her daughter.

-I wonder what one has to do these days to get one…- She said concerned. – You look tired by the way, you sure you're all right, dear?-

Of course Mrs. Thursday couldn't guess the cause of the dark circles under Morse's eyes. A few hours after Joan had left, the glasses of Scotch had became uncountable and he had spent an almost sleepless night. And when finally at 7 the alarm clock had rung, his head was pounding hard.

\- Oh yes, thank you …- He lied, -And thank you for the food… It wasn't necessary, really.- He handed her the little box of fine French pastries, - They assured me they're good quality.-

\- It's so kind of you, but there was no need Morse, leftovers never pleased Fred. But I'm sure he will enjoy these, he doesn't dislike a bit of sweets from time to time.-

The thought of Thursday enjoying French biscuits made Morse grin.

-He won't be long. – Added Winifred and then she called her husband from the bottom of the stairs. –What about a cup of tea? Why don't you go and have a seat with Sam while you're waiting?-

Morse was thinking about something polite to tell her to denying the offer, when Fred appeared, quickly walking down the stairs. – Ah Morse… Back already? Good!- He asked and answered himself the question while putting his scarf and coat on.

-'Morning Sir!-

-I can make you some toasts or some eggs, did you have breakfast?-

Morse smiled embarrassing.

-Stop fussing over him, Win. He's all right. You are, aren't you, Morse?-

\- Yes sir.- He lied again, but again it seemed that his secret has been kept and that even his guvnor wasn't aware of what had happened.

-I'm sure.- Fred raised his brows and looked at his wife, as for saying "I told you" but said nothing. – No Joanie?- He asked instead, noticing the absent of his elder daughter around.

-She has already left, she said she had to go earlier this morning, some kind of checking before the opening, or something like that.- Answered Winifred.

\- She's always running late, I wonder if finally something has changed… - Fred muttered placing his hat on.

Morse registered the information on his mind: apparently Joan had deliberately chose to avoiding him.

-Why don't you come for dinner tonight then?- Asked Winifred to Morse, out of nothing.

-Ah…- Started Morse scratching the back of his head, unsure, once again, how to excuse himself.

-I'm sure he has better things to do than dine with us, don't you, Morse?- Cut short Fred noticing the embarrassment of his bagman, but the expression of disappointment on Mrs. Thursday's face made Morse reconsider the offer and Fred's eyes rolled.

-Well… If it won't be extra work for you Mrs. Thursday…-

-Nonsense! "Where you're feeding four, you're feeding five", my mum used to say.- A broad smile appeared on her face and finally the two men were allowed to leave the house.

Thanks for reading, I hope this chapter wasn't too boring. More fun in the next one.


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